


Criminal Latke Crimes: A Holiday Tale

by CuteAsAMuntin



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Billy Kaplan - Freeform, Bobby Drake - Freeform, Chanukah, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, Ethnic food, Hanuka, Hanukkah, Holidays, How many ways are we going to spell חֲנֻכָּה?, Jewish Holidays, Jewish Peter Parker, Kitty Pride - Freeform, Latkes, M/M, Marc Spector - Freeform, Own Voices, Pancakes, Proud Canadian Wade Wilson, Wanda Maximoff - Freeform, ben grimm - Freeform, canonically Jewish Marvel character mentions including, even if you don’t count the ones like Peter, hanukah, maple syrup, pietro maximoff - Freeform, potato pancakes, there are actually a lot of Jewish superheroes in the Marvel Universe, with heavy Jewish metatextual references and Word of Author but no outright textual confirmation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-16
Updated: 2020-12-16
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28112178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CuteAsAMuntin/pseuds/CuteAsAMuntin
Summary: Peter was just trying to get into the holiday spirit and share his culture with his sort-of boyfriend. He didn’t realize Wade would bring his assassination skills to the task of making potato pancakes.(In hindsight, saying “pancake” was probably a mistake.)
Relationships: Peter Parker/Wade Wilson
Comments: 10
Kudos: 40
Collections: Isn't it Bromantic- Holiday Bingo 2020





	Criminal Latke Crimes: A Holiday Tale

**Author's Note:**

> This can be read as an interlude set at an ambiguous point in the timeline of _[Caged-Up Animal](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25394476/)_ , sometime between chapter 2 and chapter 5, or as a stand-alone story.
> 
> Need some Chanukah tunes to set the mood while you read this fic? I listened to [Hanukkah Playlist 2020](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/677hpikkcMYwd3zjwgG3NX?si=N8hjWLiqSpiKdjWAntMREg) on Spotify while I was writing! “[Puppy for Hanukkah](https://youtu.be/gbxyZAduGvY)” is my Song of the Year, and you are missing out if you haven’t listened to it yet. Chanukah sameach!

“Hey, babe, where did you put my food processor?” Peter called out over the quiet Chanukah music floating through the kitchen. He opened every single built-in cupboard in the cramped space, not really expecting his boyfriend — or whatever they were — to hear him from where he was napping all the way upstairs.

“Babe’s not home right now, please leave a message after the beep!” The voice came from just behind where the would-be chef was bent low to push aside a heap of mismatched Tupperware lids. “I don’t mind sticking around to enjoy the view, though.”

Startled by the voice and the hands suddenly groping at his denim-clad behind, Peter jerked upright, smacking his head on the way. Betrayed by the Spider-Sense.

“Don’t _do_ that! No playing mercenary inside,” he griped, rubbing at the tender spot through messy waves of brown hair. He looked up (and up) with a scowl from the _Spider-Man and His Amazing Friends_ t-shirt stretched tight over a broad, brawny chest to the red-and-black mask staring at him. “Wait, when did you leave? I thought you were napping!” 

“I only said that because you’re a sweetie who doesn’t disturb the sacred afternoon nap, leaving me plenty of time to run down to Ms. Park’s bodega and back!” Deadpool said in a cheery voice as he set a reusable canvas bag down on the counter. Peter seemed unimpressed.

“What, no ‘thank you?’ No ‘hello’ kiss?” Deadpool pouted.

“You know the rules, take off your face in the house. Then you can have kisses.” The brunet returned to his search for his aunt’s old KitchenAid processor. “Wait, why did you need to go to the bodega?” he asked, mystified. 

“You were missing a bunch of vital ingredients for your potato pancakes!” Deadpool’s voice was slightly muffled by the leather mask being scrunched up and removed as he spoke.

“I’m pretty sure we got everything we needed for practice latkes when we did the rest of our shopping. Y’know, at the grocery store, which is cheaper than a bodega run and was also, like, yesterday,” Peter said, banging another wooden cupboard shut.

“Yes, but I didn’t know yesterday that you were woefully unprepared for potato _pancakes_! And your KitchenAid is right here, sweetums,” said the surprisingly domestic anti-hero, pulling open the second cabinet Peter had looked in and taking it down from the shelf. “Now I get two smooches, right?”

Snatching the food processor from the larger man’s hands and plugging it into the narrow counter’s single wall socket, Peter supplied the contractually-obligated kisses. “There’s my guy,” he said with a smile.

Now free of obstruction, Wade was able to thread his fingers through Peter’s hair, mussing it further. He brushed over the place where the spider had banged his head, making him wince with a sharp inhale. “Poor, klutzy baby boy! Do I need to kiss it better?”

“Oh my _god_ , Wade. I’m fine!” Peter huffed through a small smile. “Well, now that you’re home and apparently not napping, we can get started on our practice latkes! Go wash your hands,” he instructed, skipping through a couple songs on their Chanukah playlist.

“Why are we making practice ones instead of just bringing these to the party?” Wade asked as he obediently trudged over to the sink.

“First of all, the only reason I’m not going to cancel you over such a suggestion is that you’ve never _had_ these before. What are we going to do, take two-day-old latkes that have gotten all soggy in the refrigerator over to the Baxter building? I don’t think so!” the young man huffed, appalled. “That’s like asking Bobby why he doesn’t just make his showoff-y little ice chanukiah ahead of time and then stick it in the freezer. You’re just begging for disappointment and a half-melted menorah — or soggy potatoes, as the case may be."

“Well, we can’t disappoint Tante Benjamin, can we?” Wade asked sarcastically as he pulled his Chanukah-themed, knock-off Hello Kitty apron over his head. “Fine, what are we doing?”

“I think you mean _feter_ , not _tante_. Besides, Grimm isn’t my uncle,” Peter corrected as he organized the ingredients on the well-worn wooden countertop next to his mixing bowl and cheesecloth.

“No, I meant _tante_ ,” Wade insisted. “That man’s got Maneschewitz aunt vibes.”

“If you say so,” Peter snorted, reaching past Wade for the avocado oil. His guy may have been a polyglot, but he had a mouthful of dumb jokes in any language. “C’mere and let me tie your apron, big guy.”

Wade leaned over the counter and spun a russet potato like he was practicing for a game of dreidel as Peter fiddled with his apron strings. “Okay, now what?”

The smaller man hopped up onto the countertop, negating his own efforts toward sanitizing the kitchen in favor of being able to look directly at his boyfriend while he spoke. “First, we wash and peel the potatoes while I tell you about Chanukah and why it’s traditional to eat stuff like latkes and jelly doughnuts.”

“And by ‘we,’ you mean me,” Wade grumbled, the effect ruined by a gleaming, toothy smile that couldn’t be hidden no matter how much he ducked his head. He picked up the first potato and began peeling it over the scraps bin.

“I’m supervising. And you always complain that I do it inefficiently anyway, Mr. Special Forces,” Peter countered, cracking a grin of his own. He watched the ripple of muscles across Wade’s forearms and the deft movement of thick, scarred fingers as he began his explanation. “Alright, so there’s the whole story of how our boy Judah Maccabee — the Aramaic Hammer, if you will — and his brothers led our people in Judea in a rebellion against the Seleucid Empire. That’s all going on against a backdrop of the whole intra-community contention around Hellenistic assimilation that had been a problem since long before ya boy Joshie of Nazareth showed up in the Roman Empire with some capital-O Opinions on the subject, which may or may not have been brewing into a borderline civil war when the Maccabees stepped on the scene. We gotta put that aside though. Otherwise, we’ll be here all day and it’ll just spoil Kitty’s fun if she doesn’t get to yell about it like she was personally wronged at the Battle of Beth Horon.”

“You’ve already lost me, baby boy,” Wade said agreeably, moving onto his third potato. “How many of these do you want?”

“All of them. We’ll want plenty to practice getting it just right, and they’re fine for _us_ to eat reheated in the toaster oven,” Peter replied. “Okay, so Antiochus the Fourth thinks it's just the most lit idea ever to make practicing Judaism illegal, and then he has the _audacity_ to perform pagan rites and _treyf_ sacrifices in the Second Temple. Also, something about dreidels? I don’t know, make Billy explain to you why we gamble for crappy chocolate coins with spinning tops; he thinks it’s hilarious for some reason and will be psyched that one of the grown-ups is asking him something. Blah blah blah, what does this have to do with spinning _s’vivonim_ and frying _levivot_? I know, we’re getting there.”

The merc, who had peeled two-thirds of the potatoes, seemed unable to help the soft, amused looks he was shooting at the little hero with every few swipes of the knife. “OG Hebrew Hammer, Civil War prequel, Western Wall, dreidels and latkes,” he summarized.

Peter appeared delighted. “You _were_ paying attention! Right, so after the Maccabees and Co. take back the Second Temple, everything is trashed, including the stores of oil for the _Ner Tamid_ after it’ re-lit. They only had enough oil to last one day, and the nearest place to get the proper kind was four days' travel away. But what’s this, a blue checkmark verified miracle! That jar of oil kept the Eternal Flame burning for the eight-day round-trip it took to bring new oil! In conclusion, they tried to make us illegal, we lived bitch, and one small miracle later, let’s eat things fried in oil and put _chanukiot_ in our windows for eight nights to celebrate. Thanks for coming to my TED Talk,” he finished up his explanation.

“I feel like you could have just skipped to the last part there, baby boy,” Wade said. The potatoes were peeled, rinsed, and stacked in a neat pyramid on the cutting board, slowly oxidizing at the edges.

“Yeah, but then you wouldn’t _understand_ ,” Peter protested. “You gotta know the whole story!”

Wade stared incredulously at his sweet little Spider-Geek for a moment before kissing him firmly on the mouth. “Giant nerd says what?”

The brunet just rolled his eyes in response and pulled the cutting board and chef’s knife forward. “Do you want to chop down the potatoes and onions and run them through the food processor, or do you want to squeeze them out in cheesecloth after?” he asked.

“Why the squeezing?” Wade reached for Peter’s butt like he was going in for squeeze practice.

The arachnid swatted his hand away with a giggle. “Stop it, you brat! Because it helps make them nice and crispy,” he explained.

“Dumb question,” the off-duty mercenary said, wasting no time in snatching up the knife to start with the hibachi tricks.

“Yeah, yeah, you can impress me with the knife play _after_ you give me some potatoes.”

Peter poured avocado oil (“High smoke point,” he’d explained shortly, choosing not to elaborate on all the times he’d accidentally set off a fire alarm with his mishaps in frying various traditional Jewish holiday foods) into the cast iron skillet to heat up while they finished prepping ingredients. Between the pair of them, the potatoes and onions were food-processed, the potato starch added back in, and mixed with the eggs, matzo meal, and salt in record time.

“I should have made you my kitchen assistant ages ago,” Peter commented idly. “Good job, big guy.”

Wade preened despite himself.

“Alright, put some paper towels on a plate and pay pretty close attention. This part is quick, and it’s real easy to get spattered with the oil.” As he gave the instructions, Peter dropped a pinch of the potato mixture into the oil to test if it was ready, timing its transition into gold and crunchy perfection.

“Wait, that’s really everything that goes in them? I thought you said they were pancakes.” The other man sounded confused.

“Yeah, potato pancakes. C’mere, watch,” he instructed. He showed Wade how to shape the mixture into round, palm-sized patties (a _Peter-sized_ palm, not a giant, Wade-sized palm) and fry a skillet of the starchy little cakes, flipping them at just the right time so that they were crispy and golden-brown on the outside and creamy, potato-y goodness on the inside. He scooped them carefully out of the hot oil and onto the plate waiting in Wade’s patient hands.

Hot damn, these might just be the best latkes Peter had ever made. He _always_ burned the first couple when he cooked them on his own or with Aunt May. “Now we just let them drain on the paper towels for a couple minutes, and then you can try one.”

“Are you sure these are pancakes, sweetums?” the larger man asked, holding up one crispy latke and eyeing it with suspicion.

“Latkes can be roughly translated as potato pancakes, yes,” Peter reaffirmed. “Try it with the applesauce and sour cream! It’s really good together!” he assured, pushing down the anxious, painful twist in his gut telling him that Wade was rejecting his food, rejecting his culture, rejecting _him_.

“O-hay yah, das pre’ goo’,” Wade said around a huge mouthful of scalding-hot potato and cool applesauce. He swallowed the oversized bite. “Latkes are so poggers. I bet I could do better though.”

“Oh yeah? Are you ready to try making some?” Peter challenged with a chuckle.

“For pancakes? I was born ready, ferda!” Wade struck a pose. Peter could nearly hear the opening bars of “Oh Canada,” and see the waving red-and-white flags with which the merc’s imagination was surely supplying him. He wondered if he should be worried about whether Pool-O-Vision was infectious.

The ex-merc in question pulled the mixing bowl toward himself, along with the reusable bag full of whatever mysterious supplies he’d felt the need to retrieve while Peter was grading papers and setting up for potato pancake practice.

Peter’s thick eyebrows inched higher and higher as Wade pulled a stack of smaller bowls out of the sideboard, then began to pull items from the canvas grocery sack. Once the cocoa powder, chocolate chips, blueberries, bananas, pecans, and maple syrup were piled up next to the mixing bowl, he finally broke. “Are you _sure_ you understand what we’re doing here?” His voice may have cracked a little.

“Oh yeah, I got this,” Wade assured, moving the oil back over the heat and swiftly dicing and tossing his way through the accursed _mise en place_.

As he watched the supposedly-reformed criminal separate the potato and onion mix into the smaller bowls along with decidedly nontraditional ingredients, Peter’s lips pressed into an increasingly thin line. His eyes narrowed with the horror of his dawning realization. Wade was a very good listener — when it came to Spider-Man, at any rate — but occasionally he got a little stuck on certain ideas or phrases. In this case, it was apparent that his brain had latched onto the “pancake” part of “potato pancakes'' and gone hog-wild.

Wade hummed and bopped his head along to Daveed Diggs’s rapid words as he gently dropped berry-infested latkes into the oil. “Do _you_ want a Hanukkah puppy?” he asked Peter once the pan was full of crackling and popping potato pancakes, making his very best puppy dog eyes at the arachnid.

Still attempting to recover from his shock and disbelief at the crimes being committed with his very own cast iron in his very own kitchen, Peter merely grunted noncommittally, immune to the effects of the anti-hero’s adorable, soulful gaze. In contrast, his soul screamed like the eponymous latke in Lemony Snicket’s holiday story as he watched Wade fry his blasphemous creations.

“Well, then maybe _you’ll_ just get socks,” the larger man huffed as he flipped the latkes. He made his way through the bowlful mixed with bananas and brown sugar, then that of cocoa powder and pecans.

“What are you _doing_?” Peter choked out when Wade was down to the last bowl.

Wade formed three small patties out of the potato mix and dropped them into the sizzling oil. “Making potato pancakes! I did a pretty good job, don’t you think?” he asked as he inspected the abominations draining on the paper towel-stacked plate.

Aside from the unholy mixture of ingredients, he’d done quite a wonderful job. Peter usually burnt at least a few of his latkes, and even the strange additions hadn’t stopped Wade from deep-frying perfectly crunchy, golden treats. “Yup, looks like you fried ‘em up just right,” he said begrudgingly.

Wade beamed down at him, his heartbreakingly sweet and earnest smile revealing even, white teeth that seemed even more perfect against his ruined flesh. Earning that expression was almost worth the crime scene that had become of the kitchen.

The warmth of their locked gaze was interrupted when Wade needed to scoop up the last few latkes and turn off the stove once again. He showed his colors as a not-entirely-upstanding member of society once more by piling several deep-fried abomination pancakes onto a plate and pouring maple syrup over the top.

His gaze swept across the kitchen as if searching for some other unholy mix-in. “Hey, where’s the ketchup?” he asked guilelessly.

“Nope! That’s it, you’re banned!” Peter cried, throwing his hands up. “Banned from my kitchen for your criminal crimes!”

Wade burst into braying laughter, spraying bits of potato and HaShem-only-knows-what over himself. “Your face! Oh my god, I’m kidding! I’m kidding! I would never put ketchup on a latke, like some kind of common hash brown.”

“How should I know? Look what you’ve done! Just because I said the word ‘pancake’ doesn’t mean you should treat them like literal pancakes!” Peter exclaimed wildly, gripping his hair in both white-knuckled hands.

“I just wanted to try it! We made them the traditional way first, so I know I can do it right! And they’re good!” He stuffed the rest of the latke in his mouth as if that were somehow proof.

Peter eyed him suspiciously for a long moment before relaxing. He skirted around Wade and his plateful of crimes against latke-kind to grab one from the original batch, topped with heaping spoonfuls of sour cream and applesauce, “You know I’m not going to let you bring cocoa powder and maple syrup to the Chanukah party, right?” He bumped his hip against Wade’s outer thigh.

“Why not?” Wade demanded as he picked apart one of his chocolate chip-studded monstrosities. He dipped it in the pool of syrup and munched happily on the crispy treat (if it could be called such a thing).

“I don’t need to live with whatever faces the Maximoff twins will make at me if I allow _that_ dessert-adjacent monstrosity in the same kitchen as their sufganiyot or Marc’s bimuelos.”

“Oooh, Moony’s gonna be there?” Wade asked, waggling his eyebrows. “You two gone on any _team-ups_ recently?”

Opting to ignore the second question for the moment, Peter scowled in return. “I will let him take you down for your crimes against food, babe. Don’t test me.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [high_functioning_sociopath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/high_functioning_sociopath/) for helping with the concept and reading it over so I could get in my official quota of "Two Jews, Three Opinions." 💖
> 
> Thanks to [WaterMe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaterMe/) and [ChibisUnleashed](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChibisUnleashed/) for beta reading and ensuring my Chanukah infodump was still entertaining!


End file.
